“I don’t know what you’re getting at,” Nancy said
“If you’d stayed in the club all through high school, and gotten involved in some of the more dicey things, and hid it from everyone for your entire adult life, what would you do if you thought someone was going to spill the beans? Blow the whistle? Pick any phrase that you want.”
“I guess I’d be upset and embarrassed about it,” Nancy said. “I wouldn’t like it at all. You’re not going to tell anyone else what I told you, are you, Carol? Like Jim? Oh, God, please promise me you won’t.”
“Of course I won’t, Nancy,” I assured her. “This is your story, not mine.”
We said our goodnights and I finally dragged my weary bones off to bed. I remember my last conscious thought, before I drifted off to sleep.
Would anyone kill to keep this secret?
Chapter 41
I’m not overweight. I’m undertall.
When I finally came to about five hours later, the sun was streaming in our bedroom window, reminding me yet again that my pathetic attempt at fall cleaning had better start with them. And soon.
I groaned and rolled over. I felt like someone had hit me over the head with a sledge hammer. There was a note pinned to Jim’s pillow. “Off to have breakfast with Tony Prentiss. He’s giving me an exclusive interview for next week’s paper. For old times’ sake. See you at dinner. I’ll be home by five o’clock.”
Tony Prentiss. The fundraiser. That darn yellow notebook. A possible break-in at our house.
And Nancy’s late-night confession.
I squeezed my baby blues shut and willed myself back to sleep. This was one day I definitely did not want to face. Especially if it ended with some of my classmates being arrested for murder. Because of my overactive imagination and big mouth.
Lucy and Ethel had a different idea. One, then the other jumped onto the bed and started licking my face.
“Ok, girls, I’m getting up. But I hope you made the coffee.”
As I was performing my regular morning ablutions, the rational side of my brain kicked in. Yes, believe it or not, I do have one.
I was going to take this so-called investigation very slowly. Not jump to conclusions, the way I always did. Because there probably were a million rational explanations for Meg’s death. Maybe she was sick. Maybe she really did commit suicide, and wanted to do it at school, where she had spent so many happy years bossing the rest of us around. Or maybe she wanted to commit suicide so she could ruin our reunion, because she didn’t get her own way about organizing it.
Nah, that last one was a stretch, even for me.
But Meg always wanted to be the center of attention. And the Boss Of All Bosses. Maybe this was her last, pathetic act to draw everyone’s eyes to her. And she decided to do it in my room, as her parting shot.
Ok, maybe all of this was pretty feeble, but I had shown myself that there was more than one way to connect the dots. I just wasn’t sure which way was the right one. Or if none of them was.
Feeling a little better, I pulled on a pair of Jim’s old sweatpants and a baggy tee shirt and headed toward the kitchen. Forget about using meditation or yoga to calm the nerves. Self-delusion works much better for me.
Fortified by a cup of steaming coffee and a toasted English muffin (light on the butter, heavier on the marmalade), I discussed my plan of action with the dogs. They were in a very good mood and even more willing to listen than usual. I’d bribed them with extra kibble in their breakfast bowls this morning.
We all agreed that the first thing on my agenda should be checking to see if my darling son had uncovered anything juicy about any of the suspects. I mean, about my classmates.
And the victim, of course. Couldn’t forget about Meg. In fact, every mystery I’ve ever read – probably hundreds of them over the years – suggest that the solution to a crime is often found by investigating the life and personality of the victim.
And investigating is a much more elegant word than snooping, don’t you think?
I fired up my laptop and was delighted to see twelve different e-mails from Mike. He’d been a very busy boy, indeed.
I skimmed his reports on two of the Marys – Mary Catherine and Mary Ann. Typical middle class matron info – married to the same guy since college, a brief stab at a career but nothing serious, two kids each, very involved in school activities when kids were younger, yada yada yada. And never moved out of Fairport.
I yawned and stretched. What boring lives they’d had. Then, I realized that my life was exactly the same as theirs. And mine had been anything but boring.
Note to self: Stop being so critical of other people.
Mary Beth did a two-year stint interning at a New York public relations agency right after college. But then she left, got married, had one daughter, and settled down in Fairport.
Meg’s profile was by far the most interesting. And, yes, mysterious. Over the past forty years she’d held a wide variety of jobs under an equal variety of different names.
Mike pointed out to me, in all capital letters, how hard it was to trace her.
This took me hours, Cosmo girl. I wouldn’t have spent all this time on it for anyone else. And the fact that my current girlfriend dumped me the night before last, leaving me with an unexpected amount of free time, was purely coincidental. So don’t go asking me any questions about my love life.
Well, of course, he was only doing that to tease me. Ring my chimes. Pique my insatiable curiosity. The little stinker. He knew that I’d suffer in silence and not cross-examine him about his latest romance as long as I had all this other information to sift through.
I was just starting to delve more into Meg’s life history when Lucy ran to the side door and started to bark. Double rats. It was too early in the morning for anyone to expect a warm greeting from me.
So I ignored Lucy and continued to focus on my computer screen. Until I was disturbed by an insistent tapping at my office window. And a familiar face mouthing, “Let me in, Carol. It’s cold out here.”
It was Claire.
“You are just the person I needed to talk to,” I said, pouring a cup of lukewarm coffee and nuking it in the microwave.
“I can see that,” Claire said. “That’s why you left me standing outside your house for such a long time.”
I was embarrassed. Claire could always do that to me.
But I recovered quickly. “I haven’t even showered yet,” I shot back. “And I didn’t know it was you. I was involved in solving my latest mystery. Meg’s death.”
That stopped Claire cold. As I knew it would. But not for long.
“What the heck are you talking about?” Claire demanded. “Did something else happen, or is this a case of your overactive imagination working overtime again?”
Well!
“Where’ve you been, anyway?” I asked, deciding to switch subjects and make her beg me for information. “The last I heard, you and Larry went to the Berkshires for a long weekend. You’ve been gone a lot longer than that.”
“I know you’re stalling me, Carol,” Claire said. “But I’ll play along. We did go the Berkshires, and then decided, on the spur of the moment, to fly to Florida and check our condo. We’re going back right after Christmas this year, and expect to stay until April.
“And to answer your next two questions, Mary Alice is doing special duty at the hospital, and Nancy has a staff meeting at the real estate office. We just got back into town last night, and I’m trying to get caught up with everyone. You were the only one I could find at home.”
She fixed me with a look that told me I better not stall any longer. “So, what’s up, Carol? Apparently, I missed quite a lot while I was away.”
“I’ll fill you in,” I said. “It’ll take some time. And what I’m really hoping is
that you’ll tell me I’m crazy.”
“Not a problem,” said Claire. “I’ve had lots of practice doing that over the years. Now, talk.”
I’m not going to bore you all with what you already know. And I admit that it takes me a lot longer to tell a story than most other people. I tend to digress.
Like I’m doing right now.
By the time I finished with Mary Alice and my visiting Neecy, Neecy’s startling request, the Golden Circle Club and the notebook, the fundraiser and Mary Beth, my suspicions about a house break-in and the theft of the notebook, Fifty Shades of Navy and Mike’s cyber sleuthing, plus Nancy’s late night confession, I was exhausted.
Claire didn’t interrupt me one single time. Which was surprising. She always tended to poke holes in my theories at every opportunity. Sort of like my personal devil’s advocate.
“So, do you think I’m crazy, Claire? You won’t hurt my feelings if you tell me that.”
Much.
Claire sighed. “I wish I did, Carol. These women are our friends. But this time, I think you’re onto something. We have to figure out what to do next.”
I cocked my head and stared at my friend. “Did I hear you correctly? Did you say, ‘we’?”
“Well, of course, silly. You don’t think I’m going to let you solve this one without me, do you? Two heads are always better than one. And you tend to go off half-cocked most of the time and act before you think things through. I’m extra cautious, so I’ll balance you out.”
Claire closed her eyes and held up her hand for silence. “Let me think for a minute. What’s the best way to do this?”
Her eyes snapped open. “Ok, I’ve got an idea. I think we should round up the usual suspects, like Poirot would do. And prod them a little bit with some of the information you’ve uncovered. See if one of them gets really upset. Or acts guilty.”
“Claire, that’s a nutty idea,” I said. “If I came up with it, you’d shoot it right down. First of all, how are we going to get everyone together? And how are we going to prod someone to ‘confess,’ as you so quaintly put it?”
“Getting them together is the easy part, Carol,” Claire said. “We haven’t had a reunion committee wrap-up meeting yet. That’s a perfect excuse. So we’ll invite Neecy, the three Marys, Sister Rose…”
“Come on, Claire, don’t tell me you suspect Sister Rose!”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Carol. But we’ll need her here to keep things rolling along. Of course, we should clue her in ahead of time. And also Nancy and Mary Alice, naturally. We’ll need to talk to them ahead of time, too.”
“I think we should also invite J.T. Murray, the Fairport Manor marketing director,” I said. “She was Anthony Prentiss’s high school sweetheart. Oh, did I tell you about that part?”
“If you think she should be at the meeting, by all means, invite her,” Claire said. “I don’t think I can handle anymore information right now. My brain’s on overload as it is.”
“I’m having second thoughts about this,” I said. “I don’t want to insult anyone or hurt her feelings. Especially if I’m wrong.”
Claire waved her hand. “Nonsense, Carol. We’ll be subtle. And besides, you have to break a few eggs to make an omelet, right?”
“I guess. I’m still not sure if this is such a good idea, though. And where will we have the meeting?”
Claire looked at me in complete surprise. “I thought we’d have it here, Carol. In your dining room. Ok?”
I nodded with a total lack of enthusiasm. Now, I had to cook and clean, too, as well as solve a mystery.
Claire laughed. “I know what you’re thinking, Carol. We’ll all pitch in. You won’t have to do much at all.”
Fine by me.
“But I still don’t see how you’re going to get someone to confess, Claire.”
“I have a yellow notebook from Mount Saint Francis, too,” Claire said. “If you can remember exactly what the words were on the notebook you saw, I’ll put them on the cover. And I’ll add ‘The Golden Circle Club’ in big letters. I’m betting that, when the committee sees the notebook, someone will crack. Especially if the incriminating notebook was stolen from your house.”
Claire patted my hand. “Don’t worry, Carol. I’ll take care of everything.”
That’s what I was afraid of.
Chapter 42
To paraphrase the late Wallis Simpson, Duchess of Windsor, a woman can never be too rich, too thin, or have too many dogs.
It took almost a week to come up with a date that the entire committee agreed to for our reunion wrap-up/murder interrogation meeting. Lordy, with all those e-mails and texts back and forth – and first one, then another of the Marys saying, “Oh, no that won’t work for me. I have yoga that day,” or some equally lame excuse – I was getting more and more hyper. And unsure of myself and my off-the-wall conclusions. Was it possible that these women really had such active lives, or did our suspects figure out that this meeting was about more than talking over whether we liked the reunion menu or the centerpieces?
And I wasn’t sure exactly what was planned, either. For instance, who was going to run the meeting? Nancy was the self-appointed reunion chairperson, but Claire was the one who had cooked up this plan. And where did Sister Rose fit in? How much did she, or Mary Alice, know about why we were getting together?
I absolutely hate not being in control of a situation, especially in my own house, for Pete’s sake. But I decided to make a Caesar salad, with sides of fresh shrimp and chicken so people could add them as desired, and bought a variety of fresh breads from The Paperback Café.
I am a salad maker, not a baker.
A simple lunch, but one that would fill people up. Depending on how much bread they consumed, of course.
Besides, if all went as we hoped, at least one person would be eating and running, so to speak, so I didn’t want to serve anything that would get cold, like a quiche, for instance. I do try to plan ahead.
I wanted to serve a white wine along with coffee and tea and bottled water. But Claire vetoed that. She said she had her own little surprise for drinks.
Nancy was the first to arrive, and when she took her place at the head of the dining room table, I didn’t even give her a dirty look. Although that should have been my seat.
One by one, the rest of the committee trickled in.
“It’s so nice to get together, Carol,” Mary Ann said, giving me a hug. “Thanks for hosting again. I feel like we’re taking advantage of your hospitality.”
“I’m glad to do it,” I said, returning her hug. “And Jim always appreciates leftovers.”
Sister Rose and Mary Alice arrived together, as did Mary Catherine and Mary Beth.
“J.T. may be a little late,” Sister Rose explained. “I stopped by Mount Saint Francis…” she laughed and corrected herself, “I mean, Fairport Manor, to see if she wanted to carpool with us, but she was showing a prospective tenant around the property.”
It suddenly hit me that Claire hadn’t come yet. Where the heck was she? This was supposed to be her show. Now, I was really sweating this luncheon out, although I tried not to show it.
When Neecy arrived, she looked as nervous as I felt. So because I am such a super nice person, as well as a perfect hostess who always puts her guests at ease (even the ones suspected of murder), I suggested she bring Porter into the house to play with Lucy and Ethel.
All three canines, glad to be together again, took advantage of the situation – and me – by bounding into the dining room and saying their doggy hellos to all the guests, sniffing and nuzzling as they went.
I made a show out of shooing all three dogs back into the kitchen so I could put up a baby gate. We use the gate to keep the girls confined in the kitchen whenever we have guests – Lucy and Ethel are terrible b
eggars. I was stalling for time until Claire got here, and I knew the dogs were a great diversion.
I was just about to offer the guests a tour of my antique house – which shows how desperate I was, because I never do that! – when I heard the kitchen door slam. Claire poked her head around the corner of the dining room. “Sorry I’m late, everyone,” she said, “but I had to make a few stops on my way. J.T. is just parking her car and then she’ll be right in. Did I miss anything?”
I shot Claire a dirty look, telling her loud and clear that she better get in here and get this show started. Right now.
When Claire and J.T. – the latter looking very stressed – finally took their seats, Nancy cleared her throat and tapped on a water glass to stop the chatter.
“I want to thank everyone for all the hard work you did to make our Ruby Reunion such a fabulous event,” she said. “I’m sure the class will be talking about it for years.”
Well, sure they would. It wasn’t every reunion that provided a dead body as one of the guests.
I didn’t really say that. Of course.
“Not that the event was perfect. Meg’s death was so tragic.” Nancy shook her head. “I’ll never understand why someone would take her own life. She must have been despondent, poor girl.”
Nancy’s eyes filled with tears. I always admired her ability to do that whenever she wanted. Her talent for whipping up tears got us out of a lot of tight spots when we were in school.
“The really sad thing, and I’m sure you’ll all agree with me about this, is that we never had an opportunity to say goodbye, since I’m told that Meg has already been buried in upstate New York . So before we begin to eat the delicious lunch I know Carol has prepared, I’ve asked Sister Rose to lead us in a farewell tribute to our dear departed classmate.”
Class Reunions Can Be Murder -- Every Wife Has A Story; A Carol and Jim Andrews Baby Boomer Mystery Page 21
